Fallout
by HAYDENpfan
Summary: Cinna. The man behind the mask, the maker and stylist of Katniss Everdeen. No one knows what it was like to be him, or the hardships in his life. These are all the experiances he had, good and bad, during the books. Reviews & flames accepted. CinnaxOC
1. 11202234

**Well, I'm a huge Cinna fan, straight from the first time I read about him in The Hunger Games. So, this is my story to my favriote charector from the series. Hope you like it(:**

**Flames, reviews, PM's, or any kind of feedback are welcome, as long as it's to help improve my writing.**

**~Hayden**

Cinna pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath through his mouth, and slowly letting it back out. Chilly outdoor air stabbed him through his thin jacket, and the icy wind made his eyes water. Thankfully, Morgan had bought the waterproof gold eyeliner, the kind Cinna loved.

Stressed was an understatment for how Cinna felt. Katniss had been in the arena for days, and tonight had been her first kill. A man, no, a boy, from some district who had killed Rue. Families would be mourning tonight, as well as some would be celebrating a child's success in surviving. But, all Cinna cared about, was Katniss.

The look on her face had been enough to bring him to tears. He left the room before Morgan could see, stating he needed some air. He wondered, right now, if Katniss was doing the same thing. Taking a minute, relaxing for two seconds, and pondering what priorities were most important.

"Cinna?" A soft voice asked from the doorway. A second later, he could feel her tiny, delicate hand slipping into his. He couldn't help but realize for the millionth time how perfectly they fit together, better then puzzle pieces. "Are you okay?"

Damn. She had seen right through his act.

Cinna smiled to himself, eyes still closed, fingers still pinching the bridge of his nose. "You know me to well, Morgan Torie."

"She'll be okay, Cinna. I've seen the games before. She's a a survivor, she's strong enough. She'll pull through."

Cinna opened his eyes and looked down at the defiant, blonde-haired blue-eyed girl standing next to him. She was brilliant, extraordinary, stubborn, adorable, thoughtful, a sweetheart, but she knew how to hold her ground. Every quality about the twenty-two year old appealed to him, and the fact that they had been together for eight years only made their relationship stronger.

Slowly, Morgan took his other hand and pulled him back inside their apartment, her eyes never leaving his face. The TV had been turned off, the games eliminated from their temporary home.

Later, when Morgan was sleeping soundy curled up against his chest, Cinna stared at the clock. Two-oh-three. No sleep. Then again, Katniss must be doing so much worse, he felt ashamed to even begin to think about himself.

"Morning, Cinna!" Effie Trinket stated in a voice of never-ending enthusiasm as he walked into work. It was a bright, exciting morning, and the office was bustling with activity from last nights games.

"Good morning, Effie." Cinna smiled, wondering what today would bring.

"Portia came in early. She left a few minutes ago to get some more cloth or something. Anyway, Bren brought in donuts and coffee this morning, so please, help yourself," Effie said, as if last night hadn't been stressful for her at all, seeing Katniss in pain.

Cinna nodded, grabbing some coffee and heading to his studio. His work was located on a major highway full of offices, but since he had become a Games stylist, he had gotten to choose the studio he wanted. This one had a veiw, and Effie worked here, so he had easy access to any information about Katniss. Portia had done the same, except with Peeta in mind.

He walked in his studio, breathing in the deep, calming smell of cloth, metal, wood, fabric softner, ect. Cinna was one of the cleanest people in all of Panem, but his studio had been in a mess. After all the turmoil the last few days had caused, it was surprising the studio only looked like a tornado had gone through.

Cinna got to work on Katniss's dress. It would be her victory dress, if she won. No, Cinna corrected himself, when she won.

After getting lost in designs and patterns, he barely noticed when hours later Portia walked in the room.

"Oh Cinna," she sang to her friend. "I realize that the games are getting stressful. But there is no need to live inside a...I honestly cannot come up with a word to call all of this," Portia said, waving a hand to the studio.

Cinna smiled, but never turned around. "Yes? And how is your workspace faring?"

He could almost hear Portia smirk. "Oh, you know. Fine and dandy."

"I'm sure," Cinna stated.

Portia came up and touched his arm. "Cinna?" she said softly, and he looked up at her. True concern was written in clear letters on Portia's face, and Cinna couldn't help but feel guilty. She should be focused on Peeta, not him.

"Sorry, Portia." Cinna pulled away from his work, rolling his shoulders. "Just been too busy to clean up lately."

"Are you okay?" Portia asked, still being serious.

"What is with you women?" Cinna smiled playfully. "I think you're both becoming obsessed with me."

"Who, Morgan?" Portia pulled away, and smiled awkwardly. "You've been together eight years. She's probably wondering if you're ever going to propose."

Was that a hint of remorse, flickering across her face? Cinna didn't know what it was, but Portia never seemed comfortable being around, or even talking about Morgan. It was strange, how Morgan always asked about Portia, but Portia always seemed to shy away from the subject of his long-time girlfriend.

"I don't know," Cinna said, watching Portia's face carefully. "I was thinking sometime soon, after the Victory tour, maybe..."

"Is this your new design?" Portia gasped, looking genuinly surprised at the pattern on Cinna's desk. Sure, she could have actually been shocked, but she could have at least commented on the previous subject before moving on.

"Um, yes," Cinna said, trying to gently show her his confusion and discomfort, but she either wasn't picking up on it, or was ignoring it. "It's Katniss's victory dress."

"It's perfect! My design was some-what similar, but after a few alterations, we'll have a perfect couple of outfits..."

Cinna, deciding to just go with the change of flow, got to immediate work with Portia on making the perfect combination of clothes.

**What do you think? Just kind of a story-setter. I just want to see how far this will go...I actually enjoyed writing this, so hopefully you guys enjoy the story. Tell me what you think, please! **

**~Hayden(:**


	2. 11242234

"Cinna, I cannot stand that man. I do not want to eat dinner with him, in the same room!"

Cinna sighed, and watched Morgan from behind. She had her hair down, just the way he liked it, long and thick and soft, with the beach waves he loved so much. She was dressed in dark jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt, with a brown belt. Normally he would chide anyone for wearing black and brown, but Morgan always seemed to pull anything off. He loved it.

"Morgan-,"

"Cinna, please! You don't talk to your father. I don't want to talk to mine."

"That's different, Morgan."

Morgan sighed and put down the knife. She had been chopping carrots for their salad at dinner tonight, but that didn't seem to be the plan anymore. Cinna had run into Morgan's mom at the coffee shop on his way home from work, and she had invited them over for dinner that night.

Morgan put her hands to her forehead and looked at Cinna apologetically. "I know it's different Cinna, but I just don't want to see him. If it was just mom, fine. But I don't want to even look at that man after what happened last week."

Cinna didn't want to see Morgan's father either. Tom had always been the protective father of Morgan and her sister, Sophie. And that had been fine, until Morgan got into her late teens. Sophie was the firstborn, so naturally Tom was more protective of Morgan since she was his youngest. When Morgan and Cinna has started dating, he was mildly furious, and forbid her to do anything, which of course niether her nor Cinna listened to. Even though they were grown adults now, Tom always found something to criticize Morgan about.

Last week, they had met up at an art convention both were invited to. Morgan and Tom were both well-known artists around Panem, so they were often invited to the same events. They had started off civil, until Tom was asked to give a speech about some of the paintings included in the gallery. When he got to Morgan's, he said, "The brushstrokes are too short." That was a compliment coming from Tom, because normally he would give a lecture, but Morgan was still angry about it. After a nucleur argument, the two continued not to speak to each other.

"Is Sophie going to be there?" Morgan asked, crossing her arms and biting her nail.

Cinna shook his head. "Marilyn didn't say anything about her being there."

Morgan rolled her eyes. "Of course not. Mom is going through that cryptic phase again."

Cinna snorted. As Morgan went to cut the carrots again, Cinna pulled her to him. He was sitting on the counter top, so she had to look up at him. His lips curled into a smile, and she couldn't help herself but do the same.

"I love you," Cinna said, tucking a piece of blond hair behind her ear.

"I love you, too," Morgan said, smiling.

He leaned down to kiss her. He loved kissing her; their kisses were tender and sweet, never rough or harsh. He liked the feel of her face on his, and running his hands through her soft hair, feeling her teeth as she smiled.

They pulled away slightly, leaning against each other. "So..." Cinna smiled. "Dinner tonight with your parents?"

Morgan smiled. "I see how it is." She laughed. "Yes, dinner with my parents. God help us."

Cinna shivered as him and Morgan walked up the steps to her childhood home. It was a cute cottage, fairly big, and covered in snow. Tom made quite a bit of money off his paintings, so they lived fairly well, even since Morgan and Sophie were children.

Morgan knocked on the door with a gloved hand, and waited. Cinna, noticing her tense shoulders, grabbed her hand and kissed it. It was one of his signs of affection; and she knew it.

Marilyn opened the door. "Morgan!" She smiled, pulling Morgan into a hug. She then turned to Cinna with a smile, always more accepting of a responsible man than Tom was. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and told them how happy she was to she them.

She took them into the first room after the hallway. Cinna felt blessed by the smells that attacked his nose; honey ham, roasted potatoes, corn, and freshly baked cheese bread. Marilyn always managed to make him feel at home, no matter how hostile Tom was. She had easily combind Cinna and Morgan's favorite meals, and he told her how much he appreciated it.

Marilyn smiled and patted his arm, blue eyes sparkling and gray curls bouncing around her shoulders. "It was my pleasure, Cinna. You know that you two are always welcome here."

Cinna knew that the last part wasn't nessecarily true, but he appreciated her effort.

"Here Mom, we brought desert," Morgan said, putting the pan in the oven to keep it warm.

"I don't suppose Cinna cooked it?" Marilyn asked, looking at the couple.

Cinna smiled, and Morgan laughed as they remembered the last time that Cinna attempted to cook anything. It was Christmas day, and he ended up burning the cranberry sauce just trying to warm it up. Marilyn had thought it was funny, and Tom has remained silent as Sophie and her newborn son and husband cut the turkey.

"No ma'am," said Cinna. "Not this time."

"Good," she smiled. "Morgan, will you set the table? And Cinna, you can fill the glasses."

They set to work, steadily working on the dinner. As Cinna filled the wine glasses with cider, he couldn't help but feel a twinge in his throat. He had a feeling that tonight wasn't going to turn out well. The fact that Tom wasn't even in the room to greet his daughter was a sign he was still angry, and an angry Tom always made for an entertaining night.

"Tom," Marilyn called after everything was done. "Time for dinner."

Tom shuffled into the kitchen. He was a tall man, and he was built from his younger years when he had worked as a kid before he became an artist. He had big, calloused hands that you wouldn't expect to paint the tiny details on canvas, but he could. He had Morgan and Sophie young, so he wasn't bald, but he did have the salt and pepper hair, and the around the mouth beard. His eyes, though, sparkled with imagination and creativity, that always appeared in Morgan's eyes, as Cinna noticed.

He nodded silently to Morgan and Cinna, and took his place at the head of the table. The silence was tense as they took their seats.

"Shall we pray?" Marilyn asked, looking around with an expectant smile. Most families in Panem weren't very religious anymore; it was considered trivial and time-consuming in fast-paced districts, but Cinna quickly learned that the Pearl family was very old-fashioned. Tom and Marilyn even had ancient names; they had learned the old way, and taught the old way. Cinna thought that was one of the reasons Tom didn't like him; he was in with the new. But so was Morgan, and so maybe it wasn't that bad.

Tom held Morgan and Marilyn's hands, and Marilyn reached across the table to hold Cinna's hand, as he and Morgan did. "Father," Marilyn began. "Thank you. Thank you for all that you have given us; this food and shelter, and the goodwill we all experience in our lives. Thank you for our family being here tonight, and please bless Sophie and her family tonight. We thank you. Amen."

Cinna always felt awkward during prayer. When he first met Morgan, he thought nothing of it. But after hearing her family talk about God and Jesus, he felt a stirring in his stomach. Where would he go when he died? Could he pray to this God? Would God accept him? There were very few churches in Panem, so he found it hard to find someone beside the Pearls to talk to about religion.

"So," Tom asked, after a hesitant moment of silence. "Cinna. I heard you're the stylist for twelve."

Under the table, Morgan grabbed Cinna's hand and squeezed it. Then they returned their hands to their plates in front of them.

"Yes," Cinna replied after portioning some green beans on his plate. "Katniss."

"The girl?" Tom asked gruffly.

"Yes sir."

"Hm." Tom cut some turkey and put it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. After he swallowed, he said, "Did you watch her games?"

"Yes sir."

"She is quite the warrior." 

"Yes sir."

Pause, as glasses were set down, and silverware clinked on China.

"What do you do as a stylist?"

"I help her make an impression."

Tom snorted. Marylin nudged him, and Morgan set down her cider and glared.

"I thought stylists did hair and make-up." Tom leaned back in his chair. Marilyn sighed, and Morgan crossed her arms. The fight was coming.

"My team generally does those," Cinna said, glancing at Morgan and trying to diffuse the situation. "I help her with her public image and what she wears, how she looks."

"Sounds like it's not a real man's job."

"Dad!" Morgan said, glaring at him.

"Men do not do make-up for young girls about to risk theirs lives. They should be contributing to society, helping advances in literature, art, manufacturing. Not applying eyeshadow to a teenager."

"It does have art, you have to shade," Cinna murmured, but it was no use. Morgan and Tom were at it.

The night ensued with an argument, and Morgan storming out of the house and Tom leaving for the attic to vent his anger to his painting. Cinna and Marilyn said goodbye as she hugged him, and he told her to keep the desert as she intended to give it back.

On the ride home, he held her hand as she cried silently in the passenger seat. His heart twinged for every tear that fell down her face.


End file.
